Magdalena hobbles down the stone hallway, grasping her gnarled cane. Y/N walks beside her, consciously timing her long legs to match the pace of the aged woman. Although she was a maid at the time of Y/N's birth, Magdalena is now retired and lives with the family as a friend.

Though she's never brought it up, Y/N has always suspected that this isn't the whole story, and that Magdalena's role is actually to keep an eye on her. After all, she was the one to discover the mark.

The echoes of their footfalls become muted as they reach Y/N's room, where carpet covers the cracked floor. Magdalena makes her way to the nightstand and picks up the hairbrush laying on top. Y/N, remembering this night-time ritual from when she was a little girl, sits on the edge of the bed so the elder woman can brush her hair.

"You know, I knew from the moment you were born that you were trouble," Magdalena muses, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

"Because of the mark?" Y/N sighs.

"No," Magdalena gently untangles the knots in Y/N's hair, "because of your fighting spirit. Arrived with the biggest storm of the year, you did. I knew then and there that you weren't going to let anything stop you."

Magdalena leans down and gently kisses Y/N's head, setting down the hairbrush.

"Are you going to tell my parents I was looking through the book?" Y/N asks.

"I won't," Magdalena replies, "I know you were just looking for answers. I wish I had some to give you."

She groans as she gets up from the bed, leaning on her cane.

After bidding Magdalena goodnight, Y/N gets ready for bed before sliding under the covers. She stretches her legs, then rolls over and closes her eyes, sleep drawing her in.

~~~~~~~

Y/N awakens with a jolt. Her left hip is burning, searing as if it is on fire. She yanks off the sheets and touches her birthmark of scales, but nothing feels amiss. Her hip isn't hot to the touch, nor is it bleeding. There isn't anything visible. But the burning feeling is too real.

She jumps out of bed and rushes to the bathroom, quickly drawing water to try and appease her scales. It doesn't work. The room feels suffocating, as if it's closing in. Y/N can't get a deep breath, panicking as her mark burns. Running back to her room, she flings the window open, gasping for air. The salty breeze eases her lungs, but does little for her hip. Y/N turns, about to call for her parents, when she hears it.

Y/N

A faraway call, almost lost as a whisper in the wind from the sea. Y/N freezes and a moment passes.

Y/N

The distant voice is growing closer, now like a roar, like crashing waves and howling wind combined. Broken from her trance, Y/N stumbles backwards, cold, clammy fear seizing her spine. She has felt the ocean call to her before, but never like this. She slams the window shut, not wanting to hear anything arising from those waves below her. Not tonight.

But the call persists.

Y/N sprints for the door, slamming it shut behind her and yelling for her parents, for Magdalena, for anyone.

Commotion strikes the household as everyone awakens. They reach Y/N's room just as she collapses, her burning hip sapping all of her strength.

"It's calling her. It's coming," Y/N's father says through gritted teeth. Magdalena stands tall, gripping her cane with such force it looks as though it might snap. Y/N's parents hold their daughter close, helping her stand.

"It's going to be alright Y/N," her mother whispers, "it can't leave the ocean."

But before Y/N can respond, a thunderous roar summons a wave imbued with pure rage. Y/N braces herself as windows shatter and doors cave into the wrath of the sea.